Ya'll Come...

It was yet another funeral in the tiny white church that has watched over many Stephenson comings and goings. I am always amazed at the size of our family. Even though the church is small, most families would fill a row or two, or at the most 4 or 5 and all the aunts, uncles and cousins would be included in the procession. Not so with the Stephensons. For us they mark off at least half the church and then make sure that only the closest of the closest kin is seated. Even with all that effort there will not be room if everyone shows up.

After the service, we filed out into the graveyard where the rest of the family lies waiting for us to come to them. I’ve never been one much for graveyards and tombstones. The whole idea terrifies me. But this day was a little different. Due to a pressing personal issue for which I had no answers, I really wanted to talk to my mother in law. Don’t get excited. I do not have conversations with dead people and I’m well aware of how God feels about that. I was simply feeling the need to talk to Shirley. We buried her way too early and I didn’t get the chance to mine from her all the information I needed about taking care of the boys (a story for another day).

While the graveside service continued, I kept looking around trying to find her. Just about the time I had convinced myself that I must be standing on top of my beloved mother-in-law, my husband came to the rescue by pointing out her stone. After breathing a sigh of relief, it then took every ounce of self control I could muster not to leave the group of mourners and fling myself on Shirley’s grave. I know, I know. I sound like a lunatic. But raising children will do that to you.

You will be relieved to know I kept my senses and stayed with the normal people. I suppose I realized that I already knew what Shirley would tell me and somehow in that moment it seemed to be enough. In a way I turned a page right then and there in my little situation. I knew what I knew and it would have to see me through. Suddenly I became desperate for a breath of fresh air and humor. Funerals have a way of taking the fun out of living if you know what I mean.

As we turned from the grave and walked towards the Fellowship Hall, we ran into the funeral director. A long-time friend of our family, he reached out to greet us with a hand-shake. Without warning, humor bobbed to the surface like a pond turtle gasping for air. As the director reached out to take my hand he exclaimed how good it was to see us all again. He then issued the one-liner for the day: “Ya’ll come see us real soon”. Before I could think twice I responded “I’m sure we all will”. In a split second his comment opened my eyes to the obvious- this group was thinning out and my generation was next in line for the trip. Indeed, we’ll see ya’ real soon!

I’m still chuckling over the invitation from my funeral director friend and also hoping he didn’t hear my reply. I’m ready to “go” but I’m not really feeling the love for actually going.

Between now and the time I “go”, I’m not going to invest a great amount time worrying about how to avoid the funeral home or my friend the director. The visit is inevitable. The challenge is to be as alive as I know how in every second of my time-sensitive story. I don’t know how many trips around the sun remain for me, but I intend to squeeze everything I can into and out of this gift of earthly time travel.

The ideal trip will be filled with changes and challenges, victories and defeats, questions and answers or questions without answers, and of course laughter and tears. My mind is set on seizing every day and living fully into the gift that it offers.

When the end comes, and it will you know, I pray that someone who has read this article will call my family and have them bring in the Grand Ole’ Opry singers to perform what I now believe is the perfect funeral song: “Ya’ll come”. Yep, it’s a real song. And a fitting end for one like me who relishes finding humor in very strange places. It kind of breaks up the day you know.

Ya’ll come now. Can’t wait to see ya’!

(Carolyn’s Dare: Follow this link to hear my new favorite funeral song and try to imagine the reaction-or perhaps revival-that might happen if my family is brave enough to follow through on my dare) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXBK7sTvsTI

Not the Cinderella

It occurred to me recently that I've spent much of my life not being Cinderella. In spite of many really great opportunities for such moments to occur, the pumpkin did not turn into a carriage, there has been no fairy godmother, no ball to attend with the proper gown and no glass slippers made just for me. But then, I've also not had to deal with a wicked step-mother and her evil daughters or wear rags while sweeping cinders from the fireplace.



Somewhere in life it dawned on me that being Cinderella was not all it was cracked up to be when I heard the story as a little girl. I loved seeing Cindy become a Princess who married the Prince of her dreams. However, I never found the book that described how the rest of her life turned out. Someone should really write that story...because I suspect that it would look much more like the reality that most of us face every day. The car breaks down, children rebel, dinner burns and it rains on my frizzy head. And that's only Monday. Who in the world has time to think about gowns and slippers and princes when trying to tread through the waters of daily crisis?



I suppose within each of us there beats the heart of a Cinderella dreamer. We live for that one shining moment when we are the most beautiful one at the ball, the glass slipper fits, and the prince only has eyes for us. Perfect hair, perfect dress, perfect shoes and perfect man. Does it really ever get any better than a moment like that?



As it turns out the answer is a resounding yes! I've come to realize that my practical wardrobe is exactly what I need to tread water. A gown would only weigh me down - and who needs added weight? Glass slippers would simply not work at all when trying to push a broken down vehicle out of the way. A good hair life would be nice but honestly, who cares about hair when your child is screaming for the first time I hate you.



Come to think of it, not being Cinderella has its benefits. The man I married is not a prince but he treats me like a queen. Our current home is not a castle but we have lovingly christened it "Sanctuary". My wardrobe is not suited for extravagant balls, but it works quite well for chasing grandchildren and wayward pets. I'm really a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl anyway.



Cinderella, I'm not. Happy, I am. Because I've traded in my pumpkin-carriage-rags-to-riches fairy tale for reality. My life is real, it's simple and it works for me. Cinderella had one shining moment. Me? I've got it all....and then some.

With a Name Like That....

I'm sure my parents meant well when they named me after my grandmother. Or it might have been they couldn't think of a middle name that flowed well with Carolyn. I must say that I am especially relieved they did not follow through on their original plan to name me after both grandmothers...or this blog would be called something like The Life and Times of Lily Fern. Thankfully, they simply lifted the Dare from my grandmother's full name (Lillian Virginia Dare) and deposited it into my life as a middle name.

Until recently, I pretty much ignored my middle name. I even dropped it from my life when I married, opting instead to use my maiden name as my middle name and initial on all official documents. But the name was not willing to be so easily dismissed. In fact, I have come to the realization that most of my life has been filled daily with opportunities to live into the meaning of the name.

Webster's provides two definitions for the word dare: 1) to have sufficient courage and 2) the challenge to perform an action as proof of courage. At my age, I am long past the feeling that I must do anything for the sole purpose of proving myself to anyone. However, I face challenges every day that require me to summon enough courage to keep moving forward or sometimes simply do the next thing that must be done.

Thus the birth of Carolyn's Dare. In this place I will speak of challenges and courage. You may find that much of what I say could be said by anyone, including yourself. I have simply taken up my own dare to say out loud the things that are usually left unsaid. I believe we do not speak up because we fear what others will think. Or could it be we fear the truth about what we ourselves are thinking?

You will not always like what I say, nor will you agree with me. That's wonderful news to me. It means you are thinking. And when you are thinking, you are taking up the challenge to live with courage.

Welcome to Carolyn's Dare.